


Winterfell Night

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward morning after, F/M, Gift Fic, Hot pools, M/M, gotsecretsanta, nothing bad ever happens ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: The sounds of light footsteps on frozen snow have Brienne’s shoulders hunch around her ears. So much for a few minutes of peace and quiet after what had been quite an extraordinary night. It’s hard to wrap her head around it. Has it really happened, after all those years?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	Winterfell Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dornessiti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornessiti/gifts).



> Dear @dornessiti, here you have it once more. I'm so glad you like it! 
> 
> My first and only Brienne/Jaime^^

The sounds of light footsteps on frozen snow have Brienne’s shoulders hunch around her ears. So much for a few minutes of peace and quiet after what had been quite an extraordinary night. It’s hard to wrap her head around it. Has it really happened, after all those years? After resigning to the thought of forever being alone early, she’d thought she was content with her life as it was. And then _he_ had to stumble into it with the subtlety of a rampant bull. 

The water is hot, especially in the cold of a northern night, feeling silky against her skin. But no heat could stop the goosebumps prickling over Brienne’s skin as the calm surface ripples where he slips into the pool, an arm’s length away from her. She doesn’t look up, a strange, unwelcome sense of shyness keeping her from lifting her gaze from the tiny waves he creates. 

“Are you alright?” Jaime finally asks and she can feel her cheeks redden. 

“Perfectly alright. I’m meaning to enjoy a moment to myself.” Her voice comes out pert and uppish. “Do you have a sixth sense of some kind that tells you whenever I’m having a bath so you can come and annoy me?”

“Have I done anything wrong?”

Brienne doesn’t answer. How can she explain what she doesn’t understand herself? He hasn’t done anything wrong at all, on the contrary. He’d done the right thing, and it has lead him here, to them being… this. This _thing_ between them, does it need a name? The Queen had called it love, that one time when Brienne had met her. _You love him._ Maybe it’s true. But love isn’t what Brienne thinks of first when she looks upon Jaime’s face. 

Admiration, yes. Despite everything, he kept his word. He’d been brave, forsaking his queen, returning to the scene of his crime, bringing himself before the woman whose father he’d slain. All to keep his promise. _For you_ , a part of her whispers. Gratefulness. For his trust in her, for the armour and the sword, for never mincing his words when speaking to her. He made her a knight. He fought by her side. 

“You’re not sore, are you?”

Brienne rolls her eyes, making him laugh. Annoyance, that’s what she feels when she looks at him, whenever he opens his mouth. He’s impossible, infuriating, the worst companion she could’ve picked for this particular part of her life. At least he didn’t mock her for her lack of experience this one time. 

“You could at least pretend to be a little more impressed,” Jaime says. He lifts his right arm out of the water, studying it with a frown. “I may be a bit clumsy, but I assure you I did my best.”

“I’m sure you did,” she says stiffly. This isn’t a topic she wants to discuss, it’s too fresh, still seems too unreal. 

He laughs again, moving so he creates more waves. He’s coming closer. “I woke up and you were gone,” he whispers, much too near. “I didn’t like that.”

“You can’t expect me to–” Brienne lifts her head, staring right in Jaime’s face, inches from hers. “Just because we–”

“Fucked?” He’s grinning, the bastard. 

“It doesn’t mean I have to be available to you at all hours,” Brienne finishes, trying to ignore his left hand wandering onto her thigh beneath the water. He doesn’t venture further, lets his hand lie there, like a reminder. “It doesn’t have to mean _anything._ ”

“Oh, don’t you give me that nonsense,” Jaime says. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but don’t go telling me it wasn’t damn good.”

“I… well, I assume it was.” Brienne shrugs slightly. “It’s not as if I have much to compare it to.”

“If it’s any consolation…” He grimaces. “t was a first for me too, in a way.”

She doesn’t want to think of the meaning behind those words, doesn’t want to know. He’s here, in Winterfell, with her. Not down in the capital with the Queen. He’s chosen his side and it should be enough. The past is in the past. And the future? She’s sworn to Lady Catelyn’s daughters, sworn to protect them – or at least protect Sansa. Arya doesn’t need protection. 

“Are you really telling me you didn’t enjoy it?” Jaime asks, sounding half-joking, half-exasperated, and Brienne has had enough. 

“Will you _shut up_? I have to think about more pressing matters than the loss of my – I mean – of _course_ it was good, but I’m trying to think about the future.”

“Oh.” Jaime leans back, leaning his arm against the edge of the pool. “Well, that’s a little fast, but in time I assume we can start thinking about taking some more vows on top of the ones we’re already pledged to keep. I don’t suppose you see yourself in a motherly role, do you?”

He’s grinning again, as if everything is a jape to him, and while she’s still searching for the right words to put him in his place, he takes her hand. 

“My sword and heart are yours, Ser Brienne of Tarth.”

She turns her head, meaning to scold him for mocking her, but the words are lost when she sees his face, more earnest than she thought. 

“I mean it,” he says, leaning in, and she closes her eyes. 

Gratitude, admiration, annoyance. Love? 

_Yes._

***

“She’s lost to me forever.”

Jon doesn’t know if he should laugh or shake his head. Tormund’s eyes are swimming in tears, he looks as if all his hopes and dreams have come crashing down on him the moment they had seen the two blond heads close together in the pool. 

He does neither, awkwardly patting Tormund’s broad back instead. “There’ll be others,” he says consolingly. 

“None like her,” Tormund wails, and then he throws himself at Jon, nearly knocking him over with his weight. “She was the one!”

“Don’t say that.” Jon staggers, trying to stay upright. “You’ll get over it. Let’s go, have a drink…” Or ten. “Can I do anything for you?”

“No,” Tormund sobs, burying his hairy head in Jon’s doublet. “Nothing can make me forget… well… _almost_ nothing.”

His hands slide down from Jon’s back, lower and lower until they stop on his buttocks, and Jon squawks when Tormund grabs them and squeezes. 

“Maybe a little distraction would be nice...” Tormund moves back, grinning hopefully. “Help out an old friend?”

Well, Jon thinks as he lets Tormund snatch his collar and pull him close again, there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for this _particular_ old friend.


End file.
